


for me it's the ultimate feeling

by j_gabrielle



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 21:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13960389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: Erik is a hypnotic sight. The way his body, all angles and hard muscles, move with such fluid grace is something T’Challa knows he will never tire of watching.





	for me it's the ultimate feeling

There are no signs. No indication of what goes on behind the nondescript doors and grey brick exterior. The only thing that tells people of what goes on there is the empty iron birdcage that hangs over the door.

T'Challa knocks once. And then again. Okoye would have tutted her tongue disapprovingly, but he shoves her to the back of his mind.

The door opens.

Walking in, he is drowned by the dim red lights. Soft laughter wafts from the walls, music accompanying it. T'Challa pushes further in and comes into the main floor. 

A beautiful woman stands on the stage singing a haunting love song. The air is tinged with smoke that catch in the light and drape like curtains around her. T’Challa pays her no mind, turning instead to the far corner of the room.

Bathed in light and dusted in gold, Erik dances.

“Hello.” He says when he is near enough to take his usual seat. Erik is a hypnotic sight. The way his body, all angles and hard muscles, move with such fluid grace is something T’Challa knows he will never tire of watching.

“Hello.” Erik breathes right against his lips when he rolls into a crouch in front of him. “Here to buy me for the night?”

T’Challa runs his fingers over the mess of sweat and glitter on Erik’s chest. “I would buy your freedom if you’d let me.”

It is a script; they’ve said it enough times now that it is etched with everything unsaid from all the nights spent apart. It is a show meant for the eyes of the cameras in all the hidden corners of the room.

“I might just.” Erik whispers, crawling into T’Challa's lap. “I could live with just being yours.”

This is new.

T'Challa catches the look Erik throws him from under his lashes. “I’d like that very much.” He says. Erik’s eyes widen just as the singer on the stage pulls into the finishing notes. 

“Well then, cowboy,” Erik’s smiles, slow and easy, tightening his straddle around his waist, “we best get moving on that."

**Author's Note:**

> you guys i am fucking tired af send help.
> 
> all that is keeping me going the idea that i am making that sephora money so.
> 
> [edit 14.03.2018, 1757hrs] - So I finally checked back on this fic and my dumb ass forgot to add that the title of this fic is taken from the Haunted Places podcast episode 'Birdcage Theatre (which you can listen to on Spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/episode/6utqTH5loi0FoOvLq3KIkM?si=A47YAMMKRpaDCuSrn39fvw)). It's spooky as shit and the only thing that keeps me from face planting the desk at work. Also. First week stress is real ok. REAL.


End file.
